


Please

by BlackMamba



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-21
Updated: 2009-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackMamba/pseuds/BlackMamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen teaches Arthur a few things about control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please

**Author's Note:**

> Written for: Prompt #1 "You were right about me." Table posted [here.](http://blackmamba-esq.livejournal.com/43777.html#cutid2)  
> Disclaimer: Merlin and its characters do not belong to me.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Arthur does is best to hide his smile. Gwen is trying to prove a point, so the least he can do is take her seriously. Or pretend to anyway.

Normally, he'd never allow such a thing, him naked on his back, her straddling his legs like she's mounted a horse, but he's agreed not to question her. Still, it's not the way things are typically done.

"My lord?"

She touches his hips, fingers splayed on either side. It's distracting, so much so that it takes him a moment to answer.

"Yes, of course." Arthur nods, though he's only vaguely aware of what he's agreed to. "Do whatever you like." He's suddenly self conscious, aware of how exposed he really is, which is ridiculous. She's naked too and doesn't seem affected in the slightest. But to fair she's on top, and he's…well _prone_ is the word that comes to mind.

"It's very pretty." She's still touching his hips. "Really, I've always thought so."

"Are you talking about my…" His eyes are drawn lower, to the head of his cock resting against his stomach. He's never thought about how it might look to someone else, it was always just…his. "I guess it's…" a cock, a plain, average…well maybe larger than average cock. "I suppose its nice yes."

She touches it with her fingertips, light and teasing. "Remember, no moving." She slides lower and lies on her stomach until her face is partially hidden. "Not unless you have permission."

"Guinevere, what are you doing?"

"With all due respect sire, you're not every good at this." She slides her fingers from the base to the tip before she presses the flat of her tongue against him. She curls it inward, slowly, deliberately. It's the most erotic thing he's ever seen and yet he says nothing. He's not sure what _to_ say, and before he's figured it out she takes him into her mouth.

There's part of him, a weak, whimpering part of his mind that says he should push her away. That he shouldn't be enjoying it quite _this_ much, being on his back and _her_ making love to _him_ instead of the other way around, but it's smothered by all the rest, the groans that burst from his throat when she takes him deep (good lord is that her _throat?_) and sucks him, slides her lips up and down, _up and down_ while she strokes him with her hand. By the time she moves away he's actually trembling.

"You're shivering." Gwen touches his stomach and his hips arch from the bed. He doesn't ask her to suck him again, although he wants to. Just thinking about it has him grinding against her body. "Are you cold?"

"You know I'm not _cold_." It's sharper than he intended but it doesn't seem to faze her. Instead she crawls into his lap and touches his mouth, one finger at the crease of his lips.

"Open." He presses them together in a pitiful attempt at defiance. Gwen makes that _tsk_ sound he's come to despise and tilts her head with a sigh. "I really thought you'd last longer than this my lord."

The "my lord," is almost an insult, her tone bordering on ridicule. Arthur parts his lips and she touches the tip of his tongue. Her skin is salty, warm. He flicks his tongue over her nail and swirls it back around to the bottom. "That's lovely," she says, and he's pleased by the compliment.

"Suck them sire." Gwen adds another finger. He obliges, taking them in to the knuckle. Arthur tends them much like she did his cock, moving his head back and forth, pausing to flick his tongue against the tip before sucking them hard again, which she apparently enjoys. He can tell by the way she writhes against him, leaving a warm trail of slick on his chest.

He wants to taste her. It's only fair since she's done the same to him. But instead of saying as much, forming the words like any rational human being, all that comes out is "please." His eyes are fixed between her legs and he finds himself _begging_ to taste her.

She hesitates and he's ready to take it back but then she touches the top of his head, whispering _okay_ while she moves along his body, walking up the mattress on her knees. Gwen stops when her thighs are on either side of his head and tilts her hips forward, offering herself as he's requested. The way he latches on is gluttonous, greedy strokes of his tongue that explore every inch of her. Her thighs are pressed so firmly against his ears that he almost doesn't hear her soft demand.

"Touch yourself."

This time he doesn't hesitate. He grips his cock while she rides his mouth, rapidly stroking his shaft to her rhythm. There's only her smell, her taste and the pressure of his hand, which pumps faster and faster, his grip tightening as he gets closer to his goal.

"No." She backs away suddenly. Arthur's gasping for breath, his body humming with the need to come.

"What are you doing?" (God, it's nearly _painful_.) "Guinevere--"

"Not yet my lord." She's sliding lower, her legs straddling his hips this time. "Not until I say you can." And then he's inside her, buried to the hilt and she's riding him like that mare, thighs clenched, her hands resting on his chest as though she's steering him through it. Arthur reaches for her waist but she pushes his hands away.

"Guinevere." He tries to raise his hips but the angle's wrong. All he can do is rock them a bit, which results in short shallow thrusts that only serve to make him angry.

"You're pouting." She's rocking, grinding her clit against his body, creating friction and more heat. "What's wrong sire?" She's looks down at him, smug. "You don't like being ordered about?"

"It's not…that" He wants to touch her breasts but she'll probably push him away again. "I just….there should be more…" He moves his hips for emphasis, but she clenches her thighs tighter, pinning him into place. Arthur thinks of the hours she spends lifting things, scrubbing floors and walking the length of Camelot.

"You mean this." She raises her arse and cool air touches his thighs. Arthur seizes the moment and lifts his hips, thrusting into her core. He retreats, almost completely, and thrusts again and again and _again_, until he's frantic with it, pumping rapidly because he knows she'll eventually--

"NO!" She's pinning him again, this time with both hands on his shoulders. It's like he's lost something, been put back inside some cage she's created when he wasn't looking. Her breasts are inches from his face and he lashes out, gives in to the urge to take a nipple into his mouth. It's a small consolation, but enjoyable nonetheless.

"Arthur…" She's trying to protest, but the words are mixed with breathless pants. "I didn't…" He's swirling his tongue around the tip. "You're not…supposed to..." He bites down gently. She jerks and writhes against him, rocking faster and with a purpose. He takes them in his hands, pushes them together and alternates between each nipple until she's barely coherent, babyish babbling to be honest.

Now he's the one that's smug.

Gwen reaches behind her, between his legs and he feels her fingertips on his scrotum. It distracts him, makes him lift his head with some sort of the grunting noise that reminds her of their arraignment. She pushes his hands away and slides her fingers between their bodies. "Just admit it." She moves them slowly, kneading, caressing, _dear god_, she's pleasuring herself on top of him. "You don't…" She rubs harder, but the rocking has stopped. He's pinned beneath her, _watching this_, and she's not moving a damn inch. "You don't like being told…what to do."

Whatever resolve he has crumbles when she cups her breast and lifts it higher, rolling her nipple between two fingers. Of all the torture he's endured, Arthur's not sure why this is thing that breaks him. But it does. He pushes her back, down to the mattress, and shoves her legs apart.

She's won. He's pounding inside her so hard the bed creaks and groans, but she might as well be on top of him, directing every thrust. Gwen grips his waist between her thighs and digs her nails into his back, branding him, steering him, the way she always has. He's still inside that cage and now he doesn't want to leave.

At the end, he's a sweaty quivering mess, avoiding her eyes while he struggles to catch his breath. Gwen's legs are tangled with his and she stares at his profile with an air of entitlement.

"You were right." Arthur's throat tightens over the words. "There, are you happy?"

\--

Gaius looks up, surprised when Merlin walks into his chambers. He checks the window, verifying that it is indeed, midday. "Merlin, what are you doing here?"

Merlin turns to look at the window himself, as if trying to reconcile the same thing.

"Arthur gave me the day off."

"Arthur Pendragon?"

"Yes." Merlin frowns. "He said it was Gwen's idea, that they talked and--" he shrugs. "I guess she suggested it."

"Interesting." Gaius thinks of the spoiled little prince who filled his cauldrons with mud and horse droppings when he was nine. "I would like to have been a fly on that wall."

Merlin sits in a chair and props his feet up on the table. He leans back, hands cradling his neck.

"So would I."


End file.
